Potions and Poisons
by A Tye
Summary: There is more to being a potions master than potions, and more to being a Slytherin than being evil. : A Snape fic set during the end of Goblet of Fire.


Potions and Poisons  
  
  
  
Snape trudged wearily back to the castle. The anti-apparition wards extended a good ways from the edges of the Hogwarts grounds so the hike back to the castle was less than pleasant, particularly when you found yourself attempting it in the middle of the night, cold and tired. The familiar walk also provided little to distract the exhausted potions master from brooding on a whole variety subjects best left alone. His first meeting with the newly risen Voldemort (if he was forced to call the bastard Lord out loud he'd be damned if he call him that in his head) had gone better than he had dared to hope.  
  
He'd been questioned, of course, about his defection from the ranks of the death eaters, motives for his return to the fold, and reasons for his late response to the summons, but it hadn't been nearly as intense as he had feared. He'd only had the cruciatius curse cast on him once and that seemed more obligatory than any real expression of displeasure. All of the remaining deatheaters had betrayed Voldemort in one way or another, so Severus supposed his own suspected disloyalty had slipped through the cracks. He was under no illusion that the worst was over however. Once the initial confusion of Voldemort's return faded and the dark side began solidifying it's power base there would be plenty of time for ferreting out traitors in the ranks, and far more times for protracted death sentences.  
  
Of course mulling over the all too obvious likelihood that he would be found out as a spy and tortured by one of the most vindictive wizards to ever live until he died a painful and most likely humiliating death was useless and wouldn't do his digestion a bit of good. At least Snape had some comfort. He was valuable enough to the Dark Lord that the chances of being killed out of hand where relatively low. His supposed position as a spy for Voldemort at Hogwarts was the least of his uses however. It was his skills as a potion brewer Voldemort needed, and both of them knew it. While any reasonably intelligent wizard could successfully attempt so called 'advanced' potions like polyjuice, there where very few potions masters in the world capable of brewing truly difficult potions such as veritaserum, and Severus was one. But even this hadn't been why Voldemort had been so keen to initiate the young Snape right out of Hogwarts. It had been his skill with poisons.  
  
Snape shuddered slightly, and glared angrily the abandoned quidditch pitch as he passed it on the way back to the castle. The more dangerous spells and creatures had been removed quickly once it became clear that something had gone wrong, and parts of hedge maze had been blown aside or trampled by the crowd that had surged onto the field in a mindless rubbernecking mass. The maze looked harmless now, like some long abandoned children's game that had been left out to the elements too long. Severus sighed and tried resolutely to think of nothing but his aching feet the rest of the way back to the castle.  
  
By the time he finally reached his chambers his general discomfort was enough that it almost did keep him from thinking about anything else. Once inside his door he undid the clasp of his cloak and let the garment, heavy with damp and smudged with mud from when he'd been forced to abase himself, fall to the floor where he stood. Staggering slightly as he moved towards the fire, he decided, after a moments somewhat muzzy contemplation, that he felt far to dirty to try and go directly to sleep, and while he knew that the feeling had little to do with actual dirt he decided a shower might do him good anyway. It was always easier to deal with nastier emotions while taking a shower.  
  
***  
  
With steps made heavy by exhaustion, Severus moved blindly towards his bathroom. After careening ungracefully off the doorjamb he managed to wake up enough to navigate without injury, but not before giving up any lingering feelings of personal dignity that might have thus far survived the night. Sighing, in the rather melodramatic manner he usually denied himself, he stumbled into his bathroom, and kicked the door shut in a rather juvenile display of irritation. "Well why not?" he thought. "After a day like today I'm entitled to throw a bloody tantrum."  
  
Unfortunately this line of thought led to remembering why his day had been so bloody awful. Catching his reflection in the mirror Severus glared menacingly at it. "Look at you," he said to his reflection, "A deatheather born and bred, evil looking from the tips of your toes to the roots of your greasy black hair." He grimaced painfully. Barty Crouch Jr. was had been one of the most dedicated and vicious deatheathers to ever plague the wizarding world. He had entered Voldemort's service looking like a choirboy, and had left it looking like a friendly uncle, the kind of man you would smile at when you passed them on the street.  
  
Evil hadn't marked Crouch the way it had Severus. One had to appreciate the irony of it all, that the deatheather who might have carried any mark of his dark allegiance with pride wasn't the one who had to face it every time he looked in the mirror. Snape knew very well that his upbringing in the dark arts had marked him, not just in that ephemeral spiritual or emotional way that people where always blathering on about, but in very real and tangible ways. Although once again the irony of it was most defiantly not lost on the 'Slimy Slytherin'.  
  
The Snape family had always been known openly throughout the wizarding world as excellent potion brewers. Also while less openly admitted, they where just as widely known as supporters of the dark arts. Both of these somewhat dubious virtues where common knowledge and generally considered the reason for the family's association with Voldemort. However it was the lesser know legacy of the Snape family that had been why Severus had been so heavily recruited by the Dark Lord. The Snape family had traditionally produced the best poisoners in the world, and Severus had been brought up to be the very best the line could produce.  
  
His training in the arts of poison brewing had begun shortly after the completion of his toilet training when his bedtime stories had been replaced with lists of different types of poisons and their properties. Apparently his father had also had a rather dark sense of humor, and had created a whole variety of morbid nursery rhymes. Severus still got the one listing the stages of anaphylactic shock stuck in his head on occasion. By the time he was five he was learning to brew non-magical poisons, and the best ways to slip someone a poison undetected. By the time he was ready to enter Hogwarts he was an expert at brewing almost every muggle poison known, and by the time he left Hogwarts was an expert in magical bottled death as well. His father had often called upon him to earn his keep by brewing poisons for some of his less respectable associates.  
  
All of this handling of poisons had had some permanent side effects. Constant handling of certain muggle and magical poisons caused the brewer to absorb trace amounts of it through the skin. If the exposure continued for a substantial period of time it could cause and number of side effects. While most of the side effects varied from unpleasant to potentially deadly, the ones that had always troubled him the most were the most visible. Repeated exposure to certain muggle poisons and a specialized brewing process caused the hair and skin to take on a slick, oily appearance and bleached out what should have been olive skin to a rather unattractive sallow color. Although, the fact that his pale coloring had a tendency to make him look like a sickly specter of death actually bother him less than the ever-present oily appearance. Severus had always hated it, and the slightly dirty feeling it gave him, as a youth. Now the irony of this dirty reminder of his past was enough to make him feel physically ill.  
  
With a growl Severus realized he had been doing nothing but staring at himself in the mirror and brooding for several minutes. Using the burst of energy generated by his anger he quickly shed his robes and started his shower. Leaning tiredly against the wall, he tried to let the hot water relax him a bit. Despite himself, he could feel the self-disgust, shame, and panic, welling up far to close to the surface. With a small involuntary shake, he stood up straighter and started to viciously wash his hair and ignored the sting of the harsh soap around his eyes. He felt like he would never get clean, had never been clean, would never get clean again, and he scrubbed at his skin as if he could wash away the crawling feeling of suppressed hysteria.  
  
As he was shaking the water out of his eyes his attention was briefly caught by his shower curtain. His ducky shower curtain. Albus had gotten it for him years ago and insisted that he keep it. The meddler had even gone so far as to have the house elves check up on it and replace it if Severus tried to remove it. When Albus had presented him with it he had told Severus, "It is almost impossible to take yourself seriously enough to work up a sufficient fit of angst when faced with at ducky shower curtain." Irritatingly the dotty old coot was right. With a sigh Severus realized that he had nearly rubbed his left arm raw around the dark mark, and snorted.  
  
"Leave it to me to fall back on predictable and melodramatic clichés. Too many years trying to intimidate the first years. Next thing you know I'll be acting like something out of a muggle after school special." Turning off the water and quickly getting ready for bed, he decided that any more thinking would have to wait until he had had some sleep and was less likely to act like a complete prat, before collapsing into exhausted slumber.  
  
  
  
  
  
Well, a thanks for reading the revised version, although I know it's not much of anything, just a short blurb. Anyhow, thanks to everyone who reviewed (thus eventually inspiring the revision). I had intended to continue this story, but considering my complete laziness it's not likely to happen soon although I wish it would, I really want to do something on what Snape was thinking those last few days at Hogwarts at the end of Goblet of Fire. Ah well. Anyhow, that's I hope you at least snickered a bit. Cheers. 


End file.
